


Under Arrest

by sal_si_puedes



Category: White Collar
Genre: Blow Jobs, D/s, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, Dubious Consent, M/M, Smut, not really but to be safe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:55:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26730262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sal_si_puedes/pseuds/sal_si_puedes
Summary: When, after a threatening situation almost goes awry, Neal is very nonchalant about it, Peter snaps. He's going to remind Neal of his proper place.
Relationships: Peter Burke/Neal Caffrey
Comments: 12
Kudos: 77





	Under Arrest

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, [baronsamediswife](https://baronsamediswife.tumblr.com/) for the beta!!!! <3

It’s a near miss. None of them realizes that their target has a gun. They sent Neal in alone to draw a confession from McMillan, and suddenly Neal’s eyes meet Peter’s across the warehouse’s floor with said gun pointed to his head. 

The man is absolutely prepared to go through with this and kill his hostage with no regards of what might happen to _him_ , and the very few times in his career Peter has seen that look, he and his team have always been too late. Neal is as good as dead. And Peter can see that Neal knows that, too.

They’ve been after McMillan for months in a whirlwind of a case that had started with intellectual property theft and had become an ever-growing rabbit-hole involving corporate espionage, antitrust violations, extortion and large-scale bribery, basically a nation-wide web of organized crime. Since yesterday, they’ve also been able to link McMillan to a murder victim and to contract murder in five cases. And since the confession he’s just delivered responding to Neal’s scheme, they have him. McMillan’s life is over, McMillan knows it, and he doesn’t care whom he takes with him as he goes down.

Panic has begun to close off Peter’s throat, and his hands feel numb, which is never a good thing for a field agent’s hands to feel when he’s holding a gun and has a dangerous target in sight – a target threatening and prepared to shoot his CI and the man he considers a very close friend. Family, even. 

Peter had known that it would be dangerous to send Neal in alone, and he had argued against it for the longest time, but in the end, Neal had worn him down.

Neal is going to die, and it’s going to be Peter’s fault. Peter’s responsibility. 

Jones’s voice is nothing but a blurry noise penetrating his racing thoughts when Jones calls out.

“Hey! Caffrey!”

Automatically, Neal’s head turns so he faces Jones, and Peter takes the shot. McMillan goes down, and he takes Neal with him, his hold on him only loosening as he hits the ground.

The shot still ringing in his ears, Peter is at McMillan’s side, at Neal’s side, and Neal scrambles to his feet holding on to Peter’s outstretched hand, visibly shaken but miraculously and gloriously unharmed.

“Thank god,” Peter whispers, locking eyes with Neal for far too brief a moment. “Thank god you’re all right…”

Of course, he knows that he can’t pull Neal into an embrace right there, in front of everyone, but that’s what he feels the overwhelming need to do, the relief even more crushing than the panic he’s felt before. So, he just nods at Neal and gives his shoulder a firm squeeze before he crouches down to check for McMillan’s vital signs. They’re weak, but they’re there.

When the ambulance has driven off and wailing of the ambulance’s signals has softened, Peter looks around, a lingering apprehensiveness nagging at his mind. 

Neal is gone, and nobody on the team has seen him leave. 

Peter draws a long, shaky breath. He climbs into the van and tells everyone to go home as soon as they’ve returned their vehicles to the Bureau’s garage. Neal’s off anklet, the anklet is lying right there on the shelf next to the window, so there is no use to pull his tracking data.

“What about Caffrey?” Jones asks, tilting his head, and Peter bites his lips. “He looked pretty shaken when he walked out of the warehouse. Do you think—”

“I’ll check on him,” Peter cuts in. He’s already dialing Neal’s number, but his call goes straight to voice mail. “I’ll drive by his apartment on my way home.” And then, with his voice slightly raised, decisively: “Good night, everyone.”

Neal’s not in his apartment either, so Peter decides to head for the office before going home. He can still pull some data from NYPD surveillance; chances are he’ll find out where Neal has gone from one of those tapes. Neal had seemed shaken, yes, but otherwise all right after he’d gotten up from the floor, but a close call like that should never be underestimated. 

By the time he arrives at the Bureau, Peter has worked himself into a frenzy of worry and fear. Neal is his responsibility, his CI, his friend, and he’s most certainly not all right. He could be anywhere, anything could have happened to him, anything still could. His heart is beating way to fast, and feels as if he’s close to hyperventilating. Before the elevator arrives at the 21st floor, Peter takes a long, calming breath. In case anyone else is still in the office, he must maintain appearance. But when he steps out of the elevator and enters the FBI’s offices, the whole floor is dark and deserted, save for one lone source of light in the very back. It’s Neal. He’s sitting in Peter’s dimly lit office, computer running, and he’s diligently leaving through the stack of manila folders lying on his desk, calm and composed, almost casual. 

This is when something inside of Peter boils over.

“What do you think you’re doing here?” Peter asks, his voice harsh and his hands balled into tight fists, and Neal’s head snaps up, a deep crease of concentration between his brows. Neal’s eyes focus slowly, become piercingly clear, and he straightens bis back and lets his phone slide into the pocket of his jacket. He’s still pale, but that might just be because of the cold light of Peter’s desk lamp and the blue-ish light coming from his computer’s screen. He raises his chin a little and an almost imperceptible hint of a smile curls his lips, mocking Peter just like the casual way Neal leans back in his chair.

“What does it look like?”

“It looks like you’re going through my files. It looks like you’re snooping around for something, taking pictures.”

“Then that must be what I’m doing here, mustn’t it, Agent Burke?” The calm, mocking undertone in Neal’s words is beyond irritating.

“You know what,” Peter snaps, slamming the folder he’s been holding onto the desk, causing Neal to flinch. A surge of power runs through him, and, in its wake, the desire for more of that. “I’ve had enough. I’ve had enough of this, of you, and I’m—”

“What?” Neal cuts in, and his voice is like a punch in Peter’s gut, a slap to his face, pumping even more adrenaline into his system. “You’re gonna arrest me?” The mocking scoff that falls from Neal’s lip is the straw that breaks the camel’s back. 

Peter’s rage crests, and he’s sure if he has to look at Neal’s stupidly perfect, chiseled face and into his cold, insolent eyes for one more second, there are going to be casualties.

“You’re damn right I will,” he grunts, taking the two steps around the desk in virtually no time. The pair of handcuffs he’s always carrying when on duty is in his hand, and he’s grabbed Neal’s arm, pulled him out of the chair, turned him around and twisted his arm behind his back. Neal’s wrists are in cuffs before either of them knows it, and Neal’s shoved against the wall next to the desk, his head turned sideways and his face pressed against the wooden paneling, Peter’s hand an iron clamp against his neck.

“You have the right to remain silent,” Peter hisses when Neal struggles against his hold. “And goddammit, you better do that.”

“What—”

“Shut up.” Peter’s hold against Neal’s throat tightens, as does the grip of his other hand around Neal’s cuffed wrists. He can feel Neal’s hard breathing and the shallow racing of his pulse. He’s still struggling against Peter’s hold though, and Peter can’t have that, so he tightens it even more. “And don’t even think about asking for a lawyer.”

“Peter, I—”

Enough is enough. Neal’s had a fair warning, two in fact, and this is just a fraction more than Peter can take. He turns Neal around and all but throws him to the floor, to his knees, and before Neal can fully recover from the fall, he backhands him across the face, almost knocking him over. 

His hand and arm are still humming with the strike, and Neal’s staring at him with wide, glittering eyes. His lips are slightly open, and there’s a small cut on his upper lip, a touch of red that captures Peter’s eyes and draws him in like a black hole swallows the light of a dying star. 

“Call me _Peter_ one more time, and I swear I’ll—”

It can’t be him having done this, doing this – he’d never do anything like this to anyone, not even to Neal, especially not to Neal, so it can’t be him. 

And then, Neal’s tongue darts out and the tip of it runs over the cut, just very, very briefly, causing the slightest of flinches in Neal’s features.

“Peter.”

Peter tears his eyes away from the cut in Neal’s lip and locks eyes with him. Neal’s gaze is unwavering, and there’s a silent plea in it, and a provocation. 

They stare each other for a couple of seconds before Neal nods, very slowly and almost imperceivably, but even in the fogged state he is in Peter is sure that the nod is there.

Sucking in a quick breath, Peter takes a swing and hits Neal again. As if in slow motion, he watches Neal’s head swing to the side and his body bend to the right, but he doesn’t topple over. He watches him straighten his back again, and their eyes meet once more.

“My name is Agent Burke,” Peter says, as calmly as he can, but his voice still trembles a little. He doesn’t know where the pain in his chest comes from and the pooling heat in his groin. He doesn’t know why he’s painfully hard, doesn’t understand why his cock is throbbing in his pants like that. All he knows is that someone needs to do something about it, and soon, or he can’t guarantee for Neal’s safety. “And you will address me as that.”

“What do you want from me, Agent Burke?” Neal asks, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Peter’s gaze drops to Neal’s mouth again, to that small cut on his upper lip, and his cock jerks, making him gasp. He presses the heel of his hand against it and bites his lips to stifle a moan.

“Do you want me to—”

“I want to fuck your mouth, so you’ll finally _shut the fuck up,_ ” Peter grits out, panting. The words are out of his mouth before he can even think them. His voice sounds alien to him, and he’s almost sure that it hasn’t been him who’s said those words. It can’t have been him. Yet, the words are still swinging inside of him, and he’s never heard a truer thing. 

And then Neal’s lips move and form a word. One word, and Peter can’t stop staring at it.

“Okay.”

Neal’s breathing hitches after that, leaving his mouth slack and slightly open and causing Peter’s arousal to become even more painfully demanding.

“Do you—” Peter clears his throat and tries again, his voice hoarse with desire and fear. “Do you understand what that means, _Caffrey_?”

Neal nods. “Yes,” he whispers. And then: “Yes, I understand, Agent Burke.” 

That is all Peter needs. He takes a step forward, opens his pants and frees his cock. He cups Neal’s jaw with a rough touch of his hand and forces his mouth open by pressing his thumb against Neal’s cheek _hard_. For a moment, he stops, the tip of his cock almost touching Neal’s lips. His cock is rock hard and dark red, and he knows he’s not small, but when he pushes in and hits the back of Neal’s throat, Neal takes it. 

When Neal’s lips close around him, Peter throws his head back and moans, long and far too loud. His fingers find their way into Neal’s hair and grip tight. He can feel Neal’s heartbeat around his cock, his pulse becoming one with his. 

He can’t help but groan and grunt as he fucks Neal’s mouth, the noises that fall from his lips mingling with the sound of Neal’s gagging and his stifled moans – and with a gush of nearly incoherent words that pours from his own lips, praising Neal, telling him how gorgeous he is like that, over and over, and how much he has needed this, has wanted this, again and again. 

It doesn’t take Peter very long to reach his peak, and when his climax hits, he stills for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut as he starts to come down Neal’s throat, and Neal, gagging and moaning around him, takes it all. Emptying himself like that, his hands fisting into Neal’s hair, and Neal hot and wet around him, is the most intense thing Peter has ever experienced, and the violent force of it nearly sends him to his knees.

When he’s finished, he pulls out, his cock still tingling and far too sensitive to touch just yet, takes a small step backwards and cups Neal’s jaw again.

Neal has difficulties staying upright, his whole body is shaking, but he’s forcing himself to stay on his knees. His face is glistening with sweat and saliva and tears, his lashes painting dark circles on his flushed cheeks, and there’s a distinct bulge in his pants, betraying his desperate arousal. His eyes still closed, he swallows, and Peter can’t help but gently run his thumb over Neal’s sticky cheek, apparently not a gesture Neal has expected or welcomes, because he flinches away from it. So, Peter lets go of Neal’s face, pulls up his pants, tucks his cock back in and takes another small step backwards.

His chest aches, his throat hurts, his body is still humming with release, his fingers tremble, and his head slowly, very slowly begins to clear.

The sight before his eyes is devastating. He has done this, and he can’t wrap his mind around the overwhelming, insane feeling of pride and joy that fills him to the brim as he looks at Neal, almost completely fading out the throbbing notion of guilt that has begun to settle deep down in his stomach as soon as the cuffs had closed around Neal’s wrists.

He wants to tell Neal how beautiful he is, how proud he is of him and how much he wants him, but he can’t form any of those words let alone get them past his lips. All he can do is walk around Neal and unlock the cuffs at the small of his back.

“Show me your wrists.”

It takes Neal a moment to process and comply but then he holds out his hands in front of him and lets Peter inspect his wrists.

There are red welts and white imprints around them, and there’s a little bruising, too, but Neal’s fingers look all right, even though they’re trembling, so Peter nods.

“You’re free to go,” he finally growls, reattaching the cuffs to his belt. It feels as if he’s suffocating. He needs air. Without looking back, he leaves his office, steps into the elevator and exits the building through the garage, the aching beauty he’s just witnessed lingering in his mind like a poisonous fume.

He drives straight to Neal’s place, parks the car around the corner and turns off the engine and the lights. He waits in the dark, staring into the New York night until his eyes burn. A little over two hours later, Neal returns, hat in hand, and enters the house. Peter watches how the lights go on in the rooftop apartment a short while later, and he thinks he can see a shadowy figure moving around in there. He waits until the lights are switched off again, and after that, he stays almost till morning, almost till the sun comes up. Then he drives home, takes a quick shower and immediately returns to the office. He’s the first one in, and when Neal shows up a few hours later, he calls him to his office, heart beating wildly in his throat and palms sticky with cold sweat.

Neal’s very calm, his face as serene as freshly cut marble, and when he comes to stand in front of Peter’s desk, he looks as if nothing has happened, if it weren’t for the small, fading cut on his upper lip.

Peter’s stomach lurches. He clears his throat and motions for Neal to take a seat, but Neal simply shakes his head and stays where he is.

“About last ni—” Peter clears his throat again, his chest tight with desperate want. His eyes drop to his hands, his fingers laced together to keep them from trembling. “If you want to press charges, I—”

“I don’t want to press charges,” Neal says, voice calm and steady.

Peter looks up, and their gazes meet. The look in Neal’s eyes is unreadable.

“I want us to do that again.” And after a moment of stunned silence, Neal adds: “Agent Burke.”

~fin~

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [sal-si-puedes](https://sal-si-puedes.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. Come and say Hi!!


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